


When the Day Met the Night

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Merlin knows that one day they will tell stories of this moment. Of when the landscape shifted, mountains dissolving, growing. Of the sea that kissed the the shore, offered gifts of pearls and shells. Of the forest that would not be silenced and the timbers that roared and the animals that danced.





	When the Day Met the Night

Merlin has known since he was born how he was created. It’s in the stories his mum hums him to sleep with. How the moon wept into his skin, how the sea filled his eyes just before dusk, how the midnight sky combed through his hair.

He knows he is a collection of the hidden side of day, meant to work in the shadows. The stars burn in his veins, the earth bleeds beneath his chest. 

It’s a lonely, solitary life. One he has resigned himself to, bringing life to the plants beneath his feet, brushing health into the skin of the animals he meets. He touches the sky and it burst into brilliant colors as the sun rises, fades into soft hues as the sun sets

His mother tells him he is meant for  _ more.  _ That his gifts are not tricks and treats. That he could cause the mountains to shift and the seas to rage and people to  _ live. _

It’s too heavy for him, a burden his bird-feather shoulders cannot bear. He likes the little cottage the forest made for him. He is comfortable here in the solitude, in the burst of leaves and rose and sun and berry and fawn. His world is touched with colors he cannot taste, but he has no desire to feast the way he has seen others indulge. Always dimmed in the light of the moon, always too much under the heat of the sun.

He has seen the way the months drip down their bodies, glistening rivers against leather skin. The way they rake the years across their yellowed teeth, and fill their bellies with the weeks of others labor.

Sometimes, when he curls beneath blankets of moss, ever chilled, he wonders about the heat of another. More than the brief brush of warmth as his mother kisses his cheek runs her hand across his back.

Mostly he just curls tighter, wills the moss to hold with dandelion wishes and starburst dreams. He lets the night embrace him, welcome him home, give his life meaning.

—

He’s disrupted in his almost-solitude by a man maybe half a decade older than him. Immediately he is bitter, is jealous.

This fool who invaded his sanctuary was clearly blessed by the day. His skin is crushed sunbeams and his hair the blind of clouds lit by the sun. His eyes are the lake at midday, peaceful and open.

When he smiles at Merlin, the mountains do not need a request to move. They rumble, great echoing cracks that explode behind Merlin’s eyes.

His lips are the berries Merlin crushes beneath his tongue. Snug, over teeth that gleam. Merlin wants to taste them, to know if they are tart or sweet or sour.

He walks as if he is not loosely strung together, held up by wind and sigh alike.

Merlin scowls, throws up his hands and lets an evening thunderstorm fly. The rain pelts against glass skin, a beautiful voice that  falls around Merlin in a soft tenor.

Merlin wonders if the flowers that burst beneath their feet come from the magic of day or the curse of night.

The man gives himself a name,  _ Arthur.  _ And it takes flight in Merlin, stuttering behind his breast bone. Pebbling against his chest.

He touches Merlin, reaches a fist into his lungs and  _ takes  _ , and Merlin curses the foolishness of his youth ever begging for the warmth of another.

He  _ aches  _ with the soft summer skin. Burns with a need to feel it in every crevice of himself. Arthur knows. Merlin can see it in the gleam of his eyes.

When they kiss, brief and chaste, Merlin swears the stars themselves break the barrier of night to shine above them. The earth screams beneath his feet, gleeful and vibrant, shoves at him grass that tickles and flowers that permeate the area. Too many sensations, an overwhelming perfume.

He’s dizzy with it, with this mortal who climbed in his chest and made his home.

Merlin knows that one day they will tell stories of this moment. Of when the landscape shifted, mountains dissolving, growing. Of the sea that kissed the the shore, offered gifts of pearls and shells. Of the forest that would not be silenced and the timbers that roared and the animals that danced.

They will tell stories of the moment the day met the night, and how everything changed.

How the night could no longer hide in loneliness, could no longer shiver.

The warmth burned him out, a thousand years combusting in a smattering of decades.

The day wept then, was grey for months, before fizzling out, chasing the moon and the stars and the evening forever.

 


End file.
